


And The Dream Dies Aborning

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a mission gone dreadfully wrong has Major Kevin Richards on the run - from HQ, from family and friends, from himself - is there any hope of saving him from the self-destructive force pushing him farther and farther away from those who care about him?  Maybe not.  But those who DO care aren't going to let that stop them from trying.  His sanity, his very life hang in the balance, and if the only possible way to save him puts their own lives at risk, and puts them into defiance of not just HQ and the Powers That Be, but also Clan law, they are willing to do whatever it takes.





	1. We've Lost Richards!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a distraught Alex Ainsley who brought the news. Major Kevin Richards had been declared a rogue, and a team was being assigned to take him out, before that valuable information in his head could get to the wrong people. Now was the time to repay a debt, several debts incurred by the straight-laced British officer's having taken their side so many times. They prepare to spring into action, aided and abetted by Clan O'Donnell with a full Gathering-In Call. It would mean running a con on HQ, but really, by now, that was the least of anyone's concern.

His life had always been about duty, about responsibility, about doing the right thing. Now he looked into the mirror and saw a stranger, one so far from the man he'd once thought he was, the man he'd tried to be. Now he saw only a man capable of the most despicable of acts, a man without a conscience, a man without a soul. He wasn't sure how or why, except that his last mission had gone badly awry and himself along with it. But that was no excuse; he should have been strong enough to overcome what had happened.

His failure weighed like a mountain on his mind, had torn his soul asunder. He knew only one thing for certain - what, WHO he saw in the mirror was a monster, a danger to everyone and everything he'd once claimed to care about; somehow, he had to carry that danger away, far out of reach, before it destroyed everything that mattered. The irony was, of course, that the man he thought he saw in the mirror, the man without a soul, would never have considered that self-sacrifice - that thought never even crossed his mind.

The hard knock at his door startled him away from his thoughts, sent his mind into instinctive defensive mode. He knew who was there, knew equally well he couldn't leave with them, couldn't bring himself back into contact with those he'd already harmed - he had to get away, not for his own sake, but for those others. When they came through the door, he was ready; it hadn't been easy, but he'd been successful in what he had to do. 

It was Ainsley who brought the news; there had been a certain tenuous bond between Garrison and Ainsley, the leader of the other team Actor had been working with when he'd been kidnapped, a shared understanding based on their feeling of responsibility to the men they commanded. ('Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold') Now it was Ainsley, who drove up in a jeep one morning to see Garrison; Ainsley, who, when offered coffee, had instead pulled out a flash, and offered it with a harsh grimace.

"Think this'll go down better, with what I've got to say," he said. Garrison took the flask and looked at it, unscrewed the cap and took a sniff, arching his brows with a frown.

"Ainsley, it's nine o'clock in the morning!"

"Better take a drink, you'll need it, I'm thinking," came the glum reply.

Upstairs in the Common Room, attention was fixed, the intercom having been turned on as soon as the Special Forces team leader showed up.

"Bloody 'ell, what now?!" Goniff rasped; he was just back to moving with any of his usual grace, and only halfway through his usual grumbling about being made to take on the obstacle course, nowhere near ready to get back into the full swing of things in his opinion, though with both Garrison and the Sergeant Major seeming rather skeptical of that claim. The others frowned and nodded; they, too, were not anxious for any more 'interesting challenges' right at the moment; give them a jumping out of planes, dodging bullets, setting off explosions type of job any day to what they'd gone through with Sir Redmond and his classical ideas of revenge.

Garrison raised his brows, but took a small swig. "Okay, now what gives?"

"We've lost Richards."

Garrison came off his seat on the desk top with a loud, "WHAT??" and in the Common Room, silence, as the men looked at each other in shock.

Although they'd gotten off to a really bad start, and would gleefully have strangled the Major early on, their relationship had grown to something actually approaching warmth; he'd gone out on a limb for them on more than one occasion, and had been instrumental at forcing HQ to help with the information that had led to the rescue of Actor, Casino and Goniff from that lunatic at the sanitorium. ('Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold') There was respect on either side now, as well as a somewhat grudging, though usually unacknowledged, mutual affection. Major Kevin Richards just seemed too solid a personality for anyone to 'lose' him.

"Well, maybe not quite that, not yet, but . . ."

"Alright, Ainsley, let's have it, all of it," and Garrison sat down with an audible thump.

"He was working an assignment, tracking down rumors of a link between some bigshot American industrialist and the Nazis. Man's name is, if you would believe it, Lloyd Gervais Armstrong Wainthorpe! See his name in the papers often enough, likes to play the political and social scene. Has all sorts of factories and such, research facilities, munitions, a couple of shipyards, a finger in lots of pies. Somehow word was sent he was collaborating, or at least willing to sell information, big stuff; Richards was put on it. He disappeared for a couple of weeks, and not much was thought of it for awhile; you know how some of these things take time, and they'd expected him to be out of contact til he had some information. Well, he shows up in London, three days ago, heads in to his office like nothing had happened, was debriefed and supposedly no gold, no link, just a false rumor. Well, that happens too, you know, someone jealous, a business rival, political, who knows, someone causing problems, maybe just getting hold of the wrong end of the stick."

He sighed, taking another long swig at the flash, offering it again to Garrison, who waved it away impatiently.

"But . . .??" 

"I wouldn't know this, DON'T know it officially, except my younger brother is in the chain, you know, picks up things we might never hear. He usually keeps everything right and tight, but this really got to him, and since he knew I worked with the man, brought me in on the picture. Two days ago, Richards didn't show up at the office, and they went looking. Found him in his quarters; damnest thing, minute he saw them, he went crazy, they said, attacked them; they took him down, hard," he paused, looking unrelievedly grim, "maybe too hard; they aren't saying much, but word is he took some damage. Still, he's a fighter, you know, not just a desk officer; got away, used rank, connections to get on a transport with an outbound team before anyone could get the word out, parted company with them in the south of France. The leader said he kept talking about Wainthorpe and St Claude or St Cloud, and would then waiver off, like he was feverish, sick or something, muttering something about 'killing the dream' or 'the dream's dying', some such nonsense."

"Anyway, HQ is totally freaked out, word going around is he's gone off his nut, and they'd like to forget he existed, except, well, as you know, he's got way too much information floating around in that head of his." He stopped to take another stiff drink.

Garrison snapped, "Ainsley, stop guzzling that rotgut and tell me!" 

"Garrison, they're sending a team after him; no attempt for retrieval, just take him out of the picture, permanently, at whatever cost," with a sick look in his eye.

Garrison couldn't believe it. "That can't be! He's been with them too long, taken on really big stuff, putting himself way out there for them; he has friends, surely they wouldn't just write him off like that," not wanting to believe it, but knowing what he did about the brass, how they valued expediency, part of him didn't doubt it quite so much.

Ainsley shook his head, not in rejection of all of that, but in frustration. "He's made a lot of enemies, too, you know, fighting for the teams, not just yours and mine; some of the old timers, people he could have depended on, well, they've retired, moved to different slots, aren't there to remember past services; well, you know how that is, you've run up against that yourself. 'Never mind what you did for me yesterday, what are you going to do for me tomorrow?' Thing is, Garrison, what's happening to him, you know it could have been you or me, just as easily. May still be, before this bloody war is over!" with a haunted resignation in his voice.

"Which team is going after him?"

"Don't know yet; won't be yours, for sure; brass is already pissed off at how he speaks up for you and your guys. Wouldn't think they'd trust you to do the job. Doubt if it's mine either; we go back a ways, he and I. I'll let you know if I hear."

With that, with a solemn handshake, he was gone, and Garrison was left to sit at his desk and think. 

"Actor, I'm headed out for awhile; keep everyone on standby til I get back! I don't want to have to go looking for anyone!" he called up the stairs, and took off out through the kitchen door.

"What da ya think he's gonna do?" Casino asked.

"Obvious, mate, 'e's 'eaded to the Cottage; Richards and the Clan, they may fuss and fight, but they've a soft spot for 'im, no doubt about that. Let's see if we can meet up with 'im there," headed out the door.

"Look, ya dumb Limey, ya aren't up to racing thru the woods yet; I'll meet ya all outside after I snag us a jeep," Casino retorted and headed off, double-time.

He didn't really care if the slight Englishman overdid it, after they'd come so close to losing him; no, he just didn't want to have to pick him up and carry him if he got a blister or somethin' and started complaining! Yeah, that's what he told himself, all the time he was wrangling the jeep.

With a rueful look, Goniff stopped to grab up the last biscuit off the plate and pop it in his mouth. At the impatient look from Actor, waiting at the doorway, he said, "No need to waste it, now, was there?" and trotted after the others.

Garrison, having been delayed slightly by stopping to tell the Sergeant Major he'd be gone for awhile, arrived at the Cottage to find the jeep with his guys pulling up at the garden gate. He gave them an exasperated look, to which they shrugged and Actor responded, "well, you might need us, you know." He decided he wasn't even going to ask how they knew trouble was brewing or where he had been headed; he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Meghada had come to the gate, hearing the jeep and the voices, to look at them with a question in her eyes. They rarely visited en mass, only the times when she'd invited them to a special meal, mainly, and the looks on their faces didn't lead her to think they'd come to beg a handout. A quick look at Craig's face, then Goniff's told her they weren't here on pleasure; well, they wouldn't be anyway, not bringing the other three along. They were adventuresome, the three of them, yes, but hardly that adventuresome, she chuckled to herself. She motioned them inside with a wave of her hand, and closed and locked the gate, then the kitchen door, and as an afterthought, looking at their grim faces, she drew the curtains as well.

"Alright, who's going to tell me what's going on?" 

Goniff headed to the stove, rummaging in the cabinets, in the drawers, to the amusement of the others, seeing how well acquainted he was with the arrangement, with the contents. He felt them looking at him as he pulled out the biscuit tin, and turned.

"What, you don't want coffee?" shaking his head. {"I'm supposed to pretend I'm a stranger 'ere, all of a sudden? Could've let Craig make the coffee and really surprise them, but seeings how 'is coffee tastes like mud, plus tends to ruin the pot, didn't think 'Gaida would appreciate that much. Doubt it would be all that much of a surprise anyway. Think even Casino finally tumbled."} 

They all settled around the table, and Garrison related all he'd been told. Meghada was appalled; yes, Kevin could be a royal pain at times, and all the sisters had had issues with his high-handedness, but they were quick to admit to themselves that they liked him, that it felt like he was one of the family, if not yet, then almost, at least potentially, sort-of, or close enough. If that sounded confused, well, that's what he elicited from them, confusion, aggravation, affection, amusement, all that and a frequent desire to thump him up squarely alongside the head! Yes, those were feelings family frequently stirred up, she thought to herself, thinking of her oldest brother Michael in particular.

Later, Garrison had to shake his head in amusement at her evident whole-hearted acceptance and trust of him and his men; without even a wary glance in their direction, she'd gotten up from the table, headed to the pantry wall, pressed a couple of places, and part of the wall slid down, revealing a radio transmitter/receiver set. The team looked at each other, everything from astonishment to amusement to sheer 'what tha hell!' in their faces. The looks only intensified as she put the call through, and spoke in a language not a one of them could understand, though recognizing it as the Celtic she and the others spoke together, getting a reply in the same. Then, a long pause, more conversation, and she ended the call. 

"They'll be back to me as quickly as they can; shouldn't be long for the first part of it. Ian says Jeffrey's gone missing, as of yesterday; we're trying to find out what's up with that too, of course. Knowing those bloody bastards up there, could be anything; they might think they need to explain away a missing Major, but a Private??"

Then, reluctantly, "Craig, you and the guys should get back to the Mansion, in case HQ is looking for you; best not to arouse any suspicions. I'll let you know what I find out."

At the protests she had somehow known she'd receive, "and what do you think to do, head off on your own, with no direction, no intel? Maybe get your own heads on the block along with his? If you don't want to head back to the Mansion, Craig, go to The Doves for a pint or two, you and the lads. Be sure people see you, so's they can say where you've been. I'll drop by as soon as I hear something, I promise. If I'm not there in, say, two hours, head back to the Mansion, but" with a sly smile, "nothing says you can't stop off here to say Hello, especially if you've maybe lifted one too many and are feeling particularly cheerful?? You might even let that be known at The Doves, as you're leaving, maybe pick up a pint of 'what ever they are putting into a bottle and calling bourbon this week' for you lads to be bringing me as a little present. There's none will question that; you're all no strangers to the Cottage and they all know that."

He saw the wisdom of that, and the jeep soon departed with the Lieutenant and his team.

She passed the time checking her packs; she knew they were in order, but it never hurt to double check, and it wasn't like she could focus on anything else anyway.

The first call came within the hour, another three in rapid succession. Yes, confirmation from their sources at HQ of what Alex Ainsley had reported to Garrison. Yes, confirmation that Kevin had been injured, not bleeding, but definitely hurting. Confirmation that the inbound team lost track of him near Arles, contact information for the Underground there. Reference to St Cloud or St Cloude or something similar - not that uncommon a name, but most likely one located in outskirts of Paris, with another, perhaps stronger possibility in Michigan, of all places, close to a facility owned by Wainthorpe. Information on the rich industrialist.

A formal Gathering-In Call had been sent out, to her satisfaction, though knowing he would probably be appalled, certainly embarrassed at the thought, at their thus claiming of him as one of their own worthy of such action. Ciena was between missions, and had just slipped away from her flat, taking the back ways to meet up at the rendezvous point. Meghada, of course, would take part. Coura, to no one's surprise insisting on being a part of this, and Caeide leaving Haven in the hands of caretakers to join in the search. The question was, would Garrison and his team join them? Would they be needed? It would be impossible to cover for their absence, if HQ came looking for them; usually, they had depended on Kevin to provide any such excuses when they'd been needed. 

Assurances from Clan leadership; if Garrison and his team were willing, they'd make it possible! In fact, they wanted to do that in any case, to give the guys a strong alibi, just in case one was needed. And frankly, she wanted them out of the Mansion, somewhere the brass couldn't get at them while she and the sisters were gone. She didn't trust certain parties from seeing this as an ideal opportunity for causing trouble.

As for Jeffrey, he'd been reassigned, somewhere yet unknown, somewhere he obviously couldn't get word out, since Ian hadn't heard a word; she imagined he'd be closely watched to make sure he didn't make calls, if the flap was that bad over his boss, probably having him bed down in Secured Quarters. Her contacts were still trying to locate him. Ian was, of course, royally pissed, sounding more like The Dragon than he ever had, and Patrick not far behind; he'd developed an amused fondness for their new brother.

She waited; it was just at two hours, and she expected them to arrive any minute, whooping and hollering, just as directed, and they did. It had taken all they could manage to last the two hours, all acting as if nothing was wrong, but now came in the door at a rush. They went from loud and boisterous coming in, to deadly serious as they settled around the table.

"Alright, here's what we know." And she filled them in. "A Gathering-In has been issued; the team will head out fairly quickly. There's just one question," with a glance at Garrison, who, in turned looked at his team.

"Do you really have to ask, Craig?" the tall Italian said with a wry smile.

"Hey, got nothin better to do right now anyway!" came from Casino with an offhand shrugg that fooled no one.

"We owe 'im, Warden," Goniff added solemnly, and a swift nod from Chief. If there was any doubt about Goniff being up to jumping out of an airplane or any such thing yet, well, there wasn't in his own mind, as the steely look of determination in those pale blue eyes would have told anyone.

Craig asked, "just how do we manage to be away, what do we do about HQ if they come looking for us?" It wasn't a challenge, or a refusal, merely a question on strategy, she noted. With a satisfied nod, she smiled at each of them, and turned to the radio set once more. 

Reporting to the Clan, and receiving word back, she turned with a firm, "go back to the Mansion," and to their immediate protests, she reassured them. "The family is arranging for you to get sent on a mission, don't ask me how, I haven't a clue. You'll be given your usual instructions. It'll be Operation Birdseye, only you'll be meeting up with our team somewhere along the way; we'll find you, don't worry about that part of it. Our side of the team will be Ciena, Coura, Caeide, me, possibly one or two more, though that makes for an uncomfortably large group, so maybe not. Actor, we know he's been hurt, we just don't know how or how bad; we're led to believe no blood was spilt anyway. What do you want to have available? I'll arrange for it in our packs." And she heard him out as he pondered over a list, before Garrison and the team headed back to Mansion.


	2. Monster!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no other word for what he had seen in the mirror - Monster! He kept replaying all he'd done, all he'd put in action, and he was sickened anew. He thought on those he'd betrayed, hurt - Coura, Julie, Chief, Goniff. He thought on his country, his duty which he had also betrayed. He moaned when he remembered those who had hurt, betrayed him, those he considered friends, allies - Garrison, the others of the team, Meghada and others of her family. He knew, bone-deep, without doubt - it was all his responsibility, the betrayal, the hurt on both sides - all his fault. He'd always thought himself to be strong; now, now the weakness that was within him was fully revealed, and he wept.

He was lost. Once home, he'd poured a drink, had a hot shower, changed into fresh clothes, so that when the knock on the door came, he was comfortable answering it. Ciena, Meghada, Coura - he was surprised at the unexpected appearance of the trio; he could think of no reason they'd be here. Ciena worked for him now, sometimes; Meghada had in the past, til her contract had expired, and even occasionally since then. Young Coura, well, he'd put a stop to her doing field work after that little episode in Berlin (Hogan's Heroes string, 'Coura Comes To Call'); she was supposed to be off somewhere getting some special training or something. Just at the end of her fourteenth year, he thought, maybe just a bit older, she was, but only him knowing that could have told much difference between her and the five, or was it six, years older Ciena, though tonight, for some reason, she seemed far younger, much more child-like than she usually did. Although the women of the family were supposedly full adults by thirteen, and he'd worked with agents of the Clan who were only a year or two older than that, there was some spark of innocence shining from her tonight, something quite unlike her, compared to a certain amused spark of unholy mischief radiating from the other two.

He poured drinks, they sat, talked, he and the older two; his eyes kept going to the youngest sister, and he realized he was breathing more shallowly than usual, enough he was getting lightheaded, shifting in his chair, trying to find a position that didn't put more pressure on his growing arousal.

"What is it, Kevin," Ciena asked him, with a sly grin, "see something you fancy, do you?" and Meghada chuckled. Coura looked up from her perusal of his book collection, questioning, but seeing nothing particularly interesting occurring, went back to running her fingers over the spine of his rare volumes. {"I could think of a few other places I'd prefer her to be running her fingers,"} he found himself thinking, and shifted in his seat again.

"Shall we give her to you, Kevin, would you like that?" came the astonishing offer from the amused Ciena, and he exhaled, inhaled rapidly at the thought. He realized, deep within him, he wasn't even going to fight this impulse, or question the offer. She was young, she trusted him, she trusted her sisters, and he, he, he just didn't care.

At a breathless nod from him, they laughingly caught her in their arms, her not understanding, spinning her across the room, still laughing, bringing her to sit across his knees, upright in the curve of his arm, where he could wrap that arm around her waist, holding her to him, looking down into her bewildered innocent eyes. Later, he remembered, remembered and his soul wept.

He was lost. He'd stopped by his office; the new plans for the invasion had been delivered, in code. Taking time to retrieve the code book from the safe, picking up the plans, he made his way to the dockside taven where he knew the German agent would be waiting. He handed over the plans, the code book, received the packet of diamonds in return and returned to his quarters. He thought of the lives that would be lost by his actions, and he wept

He was lost. He'd gone to the Cottage, where he'd gone so many times before, where he'd been welcomed as a friend. He should have been safe there, but this time, oh God, this time there had been no safety, only those who surrounded him, made demands, and when he refused them . . . He remembered, and he wept.

He was lost. He was lost. He'd gone to visit his sister Julie; she was always doing things to embarrass him, it seemed, and he was always having to remind her of his position, her responsibilities. She was laying on the floor now, weeping, bleeding, him standing over her with the folded belt in his hand, explaining, yet once again, that if she would just behave as she ought, this wouldn't be necessary. He looked at her, and deemed her sobs had decreased to where she could adequately handle the rest of her lesson, and ordered her to her knees. She looked up at him, lashes bespeckled with teardrops, knowing she'd get no mercy, knowing once again she'd failed him. Well, he'd see that she didn't fail him again, never again, or next time. . . Perhaps next time he would take her to the Mansion, let those staying there help him in disciplining her; yes, he would just do that. He remembered, and he wept.

Time after time after time, he was tested, each time he failed. He fought the compulsions at first, only to find he hadn't the strength to fight, to overcome. Eventually, he stopped fighting, did what he was told, urged to do, urged to accept. Became of what they, no, not they. Because of what he himself had allowed himself to become, a man without a soul, a monster


	3. The Story Unfolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man they found was a man greatly changed, a man who looked at them with horror, who looked at himself with disgust and self-repudiation. The search for answers led them to the Wainthorpe facility in Michigan, but the results brought little joy, other than proof that might be used to hopefully convince Kevin Richards that all he imagined had happened had been implanted in his mind, had no basis in reality. The antidote they'd hoped to find, they found only that it did not exist, the chemist having felt there was no good reason to waste time on such a thing. Still, the Clan, the physicians they knew and trusted, all looked for a way to help, only to come to the conclusion that there simply WAS no way. It was a hard thing, to see him, to know they couldn't help, that there WAS no help. Well, at least no way allowed by Clan Law. In the darkness of the night surrounding Haven, two Clan sisters walk in the moonlight, and wonder if they have the courage to, for the first time in their lives, step outside of that Law, to attempt what was forbidden, in one last effort to save the man who meant so much to them.

They found him, in Arles, or rather the Underground had, and had spirited him away, holding him in safety for the Clan, telling Allied HQ they had heard rumors that he'd been killed by the Germans. Huddled in on himself he was, eyes dull and glazed, but opening to horrified acknowledgement, then denial, of the faces he saw before him - Garrison and his team, the sisters, including young Coura. His soul had long since departed, or at least hidden itself away so far, there was only his body and some portion of his mind, but even that recognized the impossibility of this meeting, and cringed away; then, his very consciousness fading, and only blackness now.

"Craig, I have no idea!" Actor declared with great frustration, "and this is no place to pursue answers! He's in severe shock, though I do not know why. He looks at Ciena and Coura and Meghada, along with Goniff and Chief, as if at his worse nightmare. Caeide he seems to tolerate perhaps better, along with the rest of us, but not by too terribly much. I don't have the ability to reach through that! The physical damage, some cracked ribs, bruising, maybe a slight concussion, nothing too dramatic, not in comparison to the rest!"

"We've got to get him home," Ciena said, with Coura nodding behind her. "The family will know how to help, hopefully."

Garrison ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, "well, we certainly can't take him back to HQ in the condition he's in! Heaven knows where he'll end up, and in what condition."

Caeide assured them, "I'll have Jacques contact the Clan; they'll arrange for our transport back to Haven. You and the team, we'll arrange to have you sent back to a rendezvous spot, after all, you've completed your 'mission'," holding up the papers they had been sent to retrieve, papers the Clan had already retrieved and had waiting for them. "No one can question where you've been; you were assigned a mission, you went, you retrieved what you were ordered to retrieve, you returned. Simple, verifiable."

Casino had to quip, if a little uneasily, considering the overall situation, "hey, gotta be the easiest one we've ever been on; you know, kinda like the ones ya keep promising us, eh Warden? Easy in, easy out."

She nodded at him, "Yes, just like that!", then turned back to Garrison. "Just work on some nice details to use when making out your report, and make sure everyone knows their part!"

"Caeide, what's wrong with him, do you have any idea?" Coura asked her oldest sister while they were waiting.

"Wainthorpe is known to be tinkering with certain drugs; I'd bet they've used one or more on Kevin. The question is, which one, which is it supposed to do, and how can we fight it? I don't know what they've done, but somehow, little sister, we WILL make it right, if there is any way at all," reassuring her little sister, knowing she needed to believe this, realizing that, despite the age differences, Coura had taken this man to her heart, just as Caeide had taken Peter.

The thing was, she rather thought Ciena had done the same, and that could be a concern unless they were comfortable sharing, unless Kevin could become comfortable with that sharing. {"There I am, thinking about them Bond-sharing, when it's not even certain he'll come out of this with a whole mind; whatever's been done, it's had a deep impact."}

***

Garrison's team was back, 'mission' a success, papers retrieved; if the papers turned out to be not as helpful as HQ had thought they'd be, well that wasn't the team's fault; they'd done as they were asked.

"Not our fault Intel got the facts wrong, hey babe? Won't be the first time, either," as a certain safecracker smarted off at the officer debriefing him. Certainly, if the question ever arose, it was a matter of record of where they were during this time.

HQ had thought to send Ciena on a job, but since Richards was her usual Handler, they checked the file when no one could locate her. The note in the file that she'd been recalled by the Clan for a special project, as they were well within their contractural rights to do had no one questioning her absence. If that file was somehow 'misfiled' afterwards, well, that happens in a busy file room.

Meghada was at the Cottage, of course, when HQ checked; where else would she be? Though, since she was no longer under contract, she wasn't too sure what business it was of HQ in the first place, and she made sure to tell them that as well. The envoy left with blistered ears to report back, "yes, she's there, has been right along according to the village, and in just as sweet a temper as I'd been told to expect! I should get Hazard Pay for that little visit!"

The team to be sent out after Major Richards was pulled back, after a report from the Underground seemed to confirm his probable demise at the hands of the Germans. HQ came back to an uneasy 'business as usual' stance, but did not contact the Major's next of kin; with the jobs he did, that was standard procedure, and they didn't want his sister making noises right now.

Caeide was back in Haven, though no one but family would ever have known she'd left; but then so were Coura, Ciena and, of course, Kevin Richards, along with a serious support-team. 

His physical wounds were treated; they should heal well and easily, hadn't been too bad in the first place, a couple of broken ribs, some bruises; he was in good physical condition, and was receiving good care.

Otherwise, the Clan was in a quandry; he was willing to talk to the doctors, but the things he told them, in a dull, heavy voice, though never in any great detail, just a brief, unbearably harsh accounting, not caring if they judged him equally harshly for what he'd done, knowing he deserved it - those things simply had not happened!

They told him that, repeatedly, but his memories were too strong, his self-contempt too deep. The drug had departed his system, far too late for analysis, and didn't seem to be causing any new delusions. It seemed all the ones that were entrenched within him had occurred in his mind within hours of his exposure to the drug, probably while he was still with the chemist, where the ideas could be planted in the first place, but the effects were long-lasting, for as long as his mind allowed him to accept those memories as real. They were able to get the details about Wainthorpe and the chemist from him.

St Cloude referred to the Michican facility, and the Clan put into place plans to eliminate that danger to the world; they had no compunction. They would not have had, even if Kevin had not been involved; this was something that should not exist, and that these men thought it was something they could profit from, use to control others, well, that sealed their fate. Whether it was the Nazi's or another government, it made no difference; this was not something that could be allowed, this defiling of a man's very essence.

They ascertained from the files, from the chemist, that there simply WAS no antidote, prior to eliminating that future threat permanently. One of the agents also did sufficient questioning to know that the memories had not grown from Kevin's own mind, but were specific ones, outlined in some detail, not the names or the descriptions of the individuals involved, certainly, but the situations, the occurrances, the types of betraying, of betrayal, all that, yes, all that was outlined in his file. She took the file with her; if ever it was needed to reassure Kevin that his imagination was not so 'imaginative', so depraved, then they had the proof. 

That agent, L'Terra, cousin, friend to the sisters, shared that information with them; they were relieved, though they would have been shocked to the depths if it had been otherwise, knowing him as they thought they did, though they knew each person had some darkness hidden within.

Their discussion took them in strange directions, and gave them a possible road to travel, a dangerous one, one not permitted, actually, due to the extreme danger not just to the injured one, but to the one trying to aid in the healing. Amazing, really, that the Clan taught it was forbidden, but there was an entire class, mandatory for all, on the history of the technique, the dangers, the safeguards, studies of when it had worked, when it had failed, what those who'd returned safely had remembered about the journey, even what the Witness, when there was one, had seen of those attempts which had ended in disaster. Almost as if they knew it would, though forbidden, still be attempted under dire circumstances, and wanting to give all possible aid they could to those who were so desperate as to make the attempt.

Though only a few days had passed, it came down to the point that all that could be tried, had been tried. Then Coura and Ciena looked at each other and walked out into the night, watching the moon over Haven, looking into the cliffs surrounding them, not at each other.

"Do you think it might work?" Coura asked, in an aching whisper. They'd heard the reports, knew there was no joy coming from the creator of the drug.

"I don't know," Ciena replied in a too tired voice, "but I don't know what else to try. I've never heard of two trying to bring a third along the Moon Paths. You and I are both Moon Walkers, but we are also both, I think, bound to him in some way; I don't know if it would work with just one of us trying it, or if it would do damage to him or to one or both of us if we try it together. That's just it, Coura, I don't know! No one knows! The Moon Paths, there are reasons we're told not to attempt to bring another along with us. We may not survive, he may not survive."

Coura now looked at her sister, her partner in this endeavor. In a low whisper, the pain deep in her voice, "he may not survive, but at least it would be a clean ending. That's not what he's facing now, is it? That he could think such things of himself! We've always teased that he was too strait-laced, too conservative; that someone could convince him that he would betray us, that he could betray his country, that we would betray him in such vile ways; I have difficulty imagining that could even be possible." 

There was a long silence, til Coura spoke what she had not been sure she could bring herself to say. "Ciena, if this works, should we back away? Leave him, not let us be a reminder of all this vileness? I love him, I know that; like Caeide, I want no other, but I don't want to hurt him. It would be easier for him to accept you, of the two of us. If I back away, do you think he will be able to accept you, let you help comfort him? Or do we both remove ourselves?"

"Little sister, we'll face that when the time comes. First, if you're sure, we prepare - we take him along the Moon Paths; we try to heal him. Then, we deal with the future. I would gladly share him with you, gladly accept your sharing him with me, if he can accept that. We'll see; we'll do what's best for him. After all, that's what we do for someone we love, isn't it?" with a tired but loving smile at her sister.

The fact that Kevin could die in this attempt, they accepted; just as they accepted the fact that they could die, either or both of them, as a result, even if he survived, and that if Kevin DID perish in this walking of the Moon Paths, both of them would surely die with him.

They returned to the house, to discuss what they needed in preparation. They would have to enlist one other to help, to act as witness; that could only be Caeide; they knew she would not hesitate to walk this road if Peter needed her to do so; she'd accept their need to do this for Kevin.


	4. The Moon Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were no options now, not if they wanted to try and save him. There was no antidote to the drug that had been given to him, no arguing away the false memories implanted within his mind, no convincing him that he was still himself, not the monster he saw when he looked in the mirror. Now, the only hope was with a journey forbidden by the Clan, a journey filled with peril. If they failed at the beginning of the journey, he would be lost in the nightmare he now lived in, though they would probably survive. If they failed at a later stage, he would most likely die in the process, and them right along with him. Caeide made no effort to prevent them making this journey. It is what she would have done for Peter had there been the need; she understood and would not deny them this final chance to restore his soul to him.

Caeide had not been surprised at their request; she'd been expecting them, to tell the truth. All else had failed, and these two were strong, with true courage; they'd fight to the end, risk everything for one they cared so deeply for. It's a path she would walk willingly if Peter needed her to, she knew that well enough. Not much was needed for the ceremony, for the journey; it was a journey meant to be taken in extreme circumstances, and extreme circumstances often occurred in the most inconvenient, ill-prepared places, she thought to herself idly. At the very least, a place of quiet, a modicum of privacy, that was all that was needed, that and those who were to attempt the journey, and if possible, the Fair Witness. There was more that could help, but the journey could be attempted with only those things. Thankfully, at Haven, everything that could help in the attempt was readily available to their cause.

She had him escorted to the solar, and seated him on the floor cushions against the wall; he hadn't said anything to her, he rarely said anything to anyone now. She cupped his cheek in her hand and looked at him closely. Body, mind, spirit - the elements of any man. Yes, physically he had healed; his keen intelligence shown once more in his eyes; but oh, such wounds to his spirit! The sadness, the acceptance of what he thought to be true, it made her ache inside. He understood what they had told him, to be sure; he simply didn't believe their protestations of his innocence. He even appreciated their efforts, their trying to absolve him of his guilt, out of friendship, he knew. That they could forgive him, he felt humbled by that, and deeply touched. He also knew he was not worthy of it, and that this guilt was his burden to bear. 

Somehow, the guilt of his own betrayals ranked much higher than his pain of being betrayed; he should have been able to control his own actions; he'd always known he couldn't control the actions of others, even when he tried to do so. Somehow, he melded his guilt of what he'd done with what had been done to him; somehow, he now turned it all into his guilt. They had been his friends, at some level or other, or family of his friends; they'd not have betrayed him unless he'd deserved it; surely, his actions had caused, had justified what had been done to him.

He didn't shy away from her hand; he could tolerate her presence, just barely, Ciena's to a much lesser degree; Coura's caused him greater discomfort, as had Goniff's and Chief's before they'd left to return home, and when they offered to bring his sister, he reacted so badly they did not mention it again. 

The drug was intended to strike at what was most important, she knew that from the file. The most important relationships, the most important values, the most important areas of trust - polluting those with memories of betrayal, both betraying and being betrayed. Most sickening, the drug was designed to force the mind into such a deep acceptance of the reality of those betrayals that there was no turning back. Once the initial illusions were in place, no more would be added without more of the drug and more suggestions, but neither would those initial illusions be erased.

She thought her sisters had the right of it, only the Moon Path had any hope of bringing him back to what he was, to what he needed to be; if they failed, he would be no worse off, she thought, but the attempt, if a failure at any other than the initial stages, could cost her two of her younger sisters. The thought crossed her mind, of whether she should let anyone know, Meghada, their parents; certainly not the brothers, men were not Moon Walkers in their culture, they had some knowledge, but not enough to see, to understand. {"No, time enough later; this will either succeed or not, and they could do nothing to affect the outcome; time enough once it's done,"} she thought wearily.

She offered him hot sweet tea, urged him to drink the beverage lightly laced with the relaxant he would need once the others arrived; not much, surely, just enough to allow him to accept their uncomfortable presence. Together they waited, til she saw his taut muscles ease somewhat, and his gaze become just slightly less intense; then, she gave the signal to the two who waited outside.

Quietly, they slipped through the door, securing it behind them. Quietly they took their places on the cushions in front of him, slightly to each side of him, facing him. Ciena started speaking, ever so softly, so that he had to strain, focus to hear her, to understand. That was important; the more intensely he had to focus, the more the words would reach him at the level they needed to. She explained the journey they would try to take, the precautions, what they must be wary of. That they must have trust in each other, must not falter in that trust, or he could slip and fall, and in falling, take them with him into the void. She focused on the danger to THEM, knowing he would respond more strongly to that than to any danger to his own self. That, Caeide knew, would be a very real danger; trust WAS essential, and in this case, trust was what had been most damaged.

Somehow, her voice reached him and he accepted, even if he didn't understand. Another voice joined hers now, the two saying words he didn't grasp, the voices blending, then one rising above, one dropping below, interweaving into a whole that was saying something to his deepest being, but he couldn't have said what, but it allowed him to raise his head, look at them for the first time since they'd entered the room.

Now, each held one of his hands, him holding theirs in return, and following their voices, their guidance, he looked in front of him, to see cobblestones leading to a small rise, the arch of a bridge beyond.

"Rise now, Kevin, walk toward the bridge; be careful of the stones, don't stumble," one voice told him, clearly and carefully. In his mind, he did so, only to stop on the small rise, looking down at the emptiness below. The bridge was in front of them, but there was a gap, far too wide to leap over, and all the turmoil of his soul seemed to swirl in that dark well at his feet. He gasped and started to pull back, only to be stopped by a voice.

"Shhh, it's alright; together we can pass over it safely, just trust us, hold tight to us."

The other voice continued its reassurances, its urging, striving to overcome the resistance in his mind. He'd never know how long they balanced there, until he felt a thread of doubt relax itself, then another, then another, and the hands holding his became threads of their own, threads of safety, and he allowed himself to be drawn forward, to step onto the emptiness, one step, two, then another and another, til when he looked down, they were standing on the glowing silvery crystal of the bridge itself.

"There, my dear, you did it, you did well, we are well pleased with you," came the soft murmurs, and he could feel their hands still holding his, but their other hands touching his face, his shoulder in comfort. For the first time, he was able to allow that, allow himself to accept comfort from their touch. And they stood there, the three of them, gathering themselves for the way forward.

Caeide took a huge sigh of relief; those had been the first major hurdles, getting him to approach the path in the first place, then placing enough trust in them to take those steps onto what must have seemed to him to be an endless void. If he had faltered, refused at either of those points, they would have survived, but would also have achieved nothing. Now, forward . . .

Again a voice, coming from one of the two shadowed figures beside him.

"We'll go forward now. Up ahead, to the left, there is an outlook, a balcony of a sorts. We'll stop there for awhile; there's something that needs to be done there."

Together they moved forward, upward, til, close to the peak, they came to the half moon protrusion, bordered by a stone railing coming only waist high. They stopped and stepped out, to gaze below, into an ever moving swirl of blue, midnight blue, sapphire, the blue of a late summer afternoon sky, the palest of blues of the dawning. Above, there were dark shadows, some odd creatures, bird-like, but not birds, swooping low into the mists, then back again; he thought he could stand and watch them forever, their silver and flame and turquoise and gold feathers catching and reflecting any light that came their way. From here he could see the shore of the lands bordering whatever void the bridge spanned, trees of silvery blue, the greens and golds of fields and meadows, no sign of habitation, but peaceful and beautiful, easing his mind, his soul with the serenity. 

All three women, the two accompanying him on this journey and the one bearing witness, felt the change in his breathing, the way his muscles relaxed visibly. They waited, letting the serenity become more a part of him, until they felt it was time to move forward with what must be done. Here also was danger; some could not bear the sight of the void contrasting with the peaceful lands, becoming distraught, casting themself over the railing to perish below; others had become entranced, unable to go forward, caught here until their bodies, awaiting them elsewhere, withered and died. Now, he needed to move on, now, and so they urged him . . .

"Kevin, here is the place of seeing, the place of sorting out. Here, you will view each of the memories that trouble you," and as he started back, eyes flaring, breath again becoming tight, they each reached out their free hands to again soothe him with their touch.

"It's alright, we'll be with you."

"I don't want to see them again, I've accepted what I did, what I caused to be done, what I made them do to me, but I don't want to see them again, please?" And with in a thick voice, lowered almost to a whisper, "I don't want you to see them," he pleaded with them.

They looked at each other, frowning slightly; this was the first time they realized that he'd even managed to turn the acts supposedly taken against him into something he should feel guilty about.

"We know, dear, but it is necessary. You have to be able to see the memories in order to sort them out; here, you will be able to see clearly which are real, which truly happened, and which are false memories, needing to be discarded. Here is the place of discarding as well; the memories that are false need to be sent below, into the void. Those that are real, those you must live with, as must we all live with such truths; but it is needful that you learn, that you accept and understand the difference between what is real and what is not."

"Kevin, dear, you must trust us, remember; we would never do you harm," came in a soft voice, one he recognized now and shivered at her being willing to take this journey with him, after what he'd done. She saw his recognition, and touched him gently on the side of his face. "Have faith in us, until you can again have faith in yourself," she urged, and something in him reached out, wanting, needing to do just that. 

He was shaking now, but if they said he had to do this, if she whom he had harmed so grievously said it was necessary, then he'd accept that as part of his penance. They directed him, coaxed him, and one by one he pulled out the memories. One by one, the memories played in the air in front of him, and he writhed at the sight of the first one. The sisters watched, looking at each other, understanding fully for the first time his shying away from the younger woman since his retrieval in France.

"Kevin, look closely. Truth, a true memory, even an unpleasant one, is outlined in blue, a clear rich saphire blue. A false memory, that will be outlined in darkest grey. Which lies before you? Look, Kevin, look closely!"

He opened his eyes, reluctantly, having closed them tightly as the scene in front of him had drawn to a close.

"Kevin? What do you see?"

He looked, and started trembling, licked his parched lips. "It, it was false?? It really didn't happen??" turning to Coura, his whole body tensed for her answer.

Only she could reassure him on this point, and she leaned her head into the curve of his neck, "I promise you, it never happened." and they both wrapped their arms around him, as the silent tears began to flow, giving him some ease. When he had quieted, embarrassed at his display, they smiled at him.

"Now, it's time to let go of it. See, it's still hanging there; just release it, let it drop."

He hesitated, and Ciena asked him, "why, it wasn't real, you don't really want to keep it, do you?"

"No, but," he hesitated, and then, "it's so ugly, and it's so beautiful here. It doesn't seem right," and they smiled at how much more this sounded like the man they knew.

"But that's what the void is for, Kevin. Those ugly things, they drop below, and they join the void, forming mist. Then, when something more is needed here, another little grove of those trees perhaps, another meadow, maybe just the energy needed to let another in need walk the Moon Path, the storm birds gather mist from the void, and use that to create what is needed. You'll do no harm by leaving the ugliness here, I promise you."

And he looked into their eyes, and he trusted them, and he let go of the false memory, watched it sink into the depths below.

One by one he sorted through his bad memories; some indeed proved to be real, and, with reluctance but with a stern acceptance, drew those back to him. He was sad the two would see these, knew they would never more feel the same about him having seen them, but it had to be.

They watched with him through the others, his receiving the diamonds in turn for the information that would bring disaster to the Allied cause, watched while he weighed it, and found it false, and released it to the void. They watched the scenes at the Cottage, and soothed him with soft words and gentle touches to his arms, as he recognized the memories for what they were, and let them go. They watched, and finally understood why he'd become frantic when they offered to bring his sister Julie to him; moved even closer to hold him in their arms while he sought the courage to open his eyes again and look closely enough to see the grey outline, and held him as, shuddering, he sank that memory for all time. The scenes at the Mansion, those with Julie, those without, seeing the men they knew so well in those roles, both betrayers and betrayed, that left them angry and heartsick, and it was with great relief they saw those scenes sink, sink, til out of sight, gone forever.

Finally, there was a pause, and he lifted his head, to stare in front of him. Nothing appeared, and he looked at them. "And they're gone now? Gone for good??" as if he couldn't believe it.

"I've never heard of them reappearing, Kevin," he was told and again they held him, arms tight around him, heads leaning into him.

"We've a way to go yet, not far, but we're not quite finished," Coura told him, and taking his hands, they started for the peak of the bridge. Once there, they released him and stepped back. 

He looked at them, with a puzzled frown. "And now what?"

"Now, you make the rest of the journey by yourself. We'll be waiting for you at the end of the bridge to guide you back, we promise."

"What's going to happen?" he asked them.

Ciena shook her head, "I can't tell you that, not that I wouldn't, if I knew, but it's seemingly different for everyone who makes the journey. All I can say is, walk with your eyes wide open, listen with both your ears and your heart; the Moon Path speaks to everyone who comes here, but what they impart is for that person alone. It is a gift you're being given, Kevin, a gift that comes to very few; accept it for what it is, willingly and wholeheartedly and it can be a great blessing, for this place seem to know what each traveler seeks to know, and does its best to provide what answers there might be. Go, we'll be waiting for you, I promise."

And they stepped back further and were gone. He turned, looked at the remaining stretch of the bridge, took a deep breath, gathered his returned soul to him and started his journey. Now, when he tried to recall the false memories, they were like rude vulgar cartoon drawings, growing more and more misty in outline with each step, finally, to totally disappear. Now, and in the future, he would only know he'd had foul dreams, vile, but that's what they'd been, dreams only, caused by the drug and he could recall no more, whether awake or when sleeping, and there were no nightmares awaiting him.

As they had promised, they were waiting for him, these two who had risked so much for him. He'd discovered, in his solitary walk, just how much they'd risked, and his heart had stilled at the thought. He had discovered why they'd risked so much, as well, and the knowledge of it shook him. He discovered their willingness to become partners with him, the three of them together, no one link stronger than the others, and their equal willingness to step back, one or the both of them, if he needed them to, out of care for him. And it was that, knowledge only, nothing further, nothing urging him along one path or another of the many open to him. 

For he'd been shown many paths, the possibilities, the challenges, the changes that acceptance of any of those many paths would mean in his life, the equally challenging reality that denial of any path would mean, the so very different directions his life could take, and he was grateful that the last long descent from the peak was solely meant for self-reflection, for this was much to think upon. He had made no conscious decisions as he came to the end of the stonework, but when he saw them, waiting for him, gentle concerned looks on their faces, he knew what he wanted. He had no idea how they'd make it happen, the three of them, how they'd get past the challenges, but he would put his trust in them. At a time in his life when he had come to trust so few, had temporarily lost faith even in himself, he would put his trust in them.

Caeide was still watching, waiting for the return. She'd seen him achieve the peak, and start the Walk of Discovery; she'd not seen what transpired there, what he was given, what he received, all that was for the walker alone, but she saw the peace in his mind as he came to the stonework at the end of the bridge. She saw him reach out to her sisters, a hand to each, and pull them close and tightly into his arms, them uttering a little cry of welcome, holding him just as tightly, and knew what decision he had made.

She didn't know, anymore than they, how this would work, but she had confidence; the Moon Path did not lead one astray or give out falsehoods. Somehow, with the help of the Clan, their friends and their own strong spirits, these three, now bound together, would find their way.


	5. The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While standing on that crystal bridge he had learned how much they had risked in what they had done, or at least so he'd thought. Now, after the fact, he learned that there was more; that what they had done had been in violation of Clan Law, was in fact Forbidden, and for that there would be a strict reckoning. He thought back to all he knew about the Clan, all he'd seen and heard and suspected, and could only imagine what the repercussions to their actions on his behalf might entail. Now, facing the Grandmother, the stern-faced Leader of the Clan who would judge and pronounce judgement, he could only wonder at the fate that would befall each of them. How much had his survival, his healing really cost?

He awoke, tired but feeling more at peace than he could remember for a very long time. Laying there in the morning light he smiled to think of the two who'd been waiting for him at the end of that crystal bridge, the warmth of their welcome to him, and of the third, Caeide, who'd been waiting when the three had returned to the solar. He had wanted to ask her then, whether the journey had been a physical one, with their physical selves walking that path, her standing watch over an empty room, or whether it had been a mental and spiritual one, with her left with their empty husks while they were gone, but he'd been too exhausted to do so. They had parted, each from the other, to go to their own rooms and rest.

Today, today though, he would ask. In fact, as he lay there, relishing the peace and quiet, and those little hints of movement he could hear and sense in the big house around him, he realized there were any number of things he needed to ask. He thought back to all he remembered, and a worried frown started to replace that smile.

It was a quiet breakfast, just the four of them, any others within call if needed, but leaving them to their conversation, for it would perhaps not be an easy one. He asked his questions, learning, among other things that the journey was indeed one where their bodies had remained behind, letting their minds and spirits do the traveling. 

"And now? I can't just waltz back into HQ like nothing happened; they probably have a firing squad already lined up inside the entrance," he asked, not really joking, knowing the increasingly illogical, sometimes even irrational mindset of the Powers That Be.

Caeide smiled, "no, not exactly that, walking back in as if nothing has happened, but not so far from it either. There's a plan in place, if you DO choose to return, that will allow you to do so with no real repercussions, other than some lingering gossip about which we can do little, of course. It will involve running a rather nice little con, but we have some experience with such things," and he snorted his agreement.

"You and Garrison's team, between you I'd say more than 'some' experience," and the smile turned into a wide grin, the other two sisters joining in.

"Yes, well, we DO have a great deal in common; we've often noted that."

Her smile faded, "but it is your decision, Kevin, whether to return or not, just as all else is your decision. There are other avenues, if you prefer not." He stilled, studied his coffee cup for a long time, but then sighed, returned his gaze to her.

"There's still a war to be fought, Caeide; I need, want to be part of that, and if possible, I need to be in a position to help Garrison and his men. They have enough hands raised against them; having one in their favor might turn the trick for them. I owe them that much, that much and more," getting an approving nod in return. Coura and Ciena had remained quiet; this was truly his decision, and not by a look or a sound would they venture to influence him.

"But, before we get that far, there is another task, another challenge you might say." Caeide's voice was serious, very much so that he looked at her questioningly, noting the little half-frown on her face.

"Kevin, you need to know what Coura and Ciena did, what I assisted in - it's forbidden by Clan law. We are taught, most firmly, that one does NOT try to take another over the Moon Path; they, we, went against those teachings, and while the results were, well," and now her face relaxed into a smile of intense warmth, "all anyone could have hoped for, the three of you returning well and whole, still, there must be a Reckoning, an answering to the Clan for what was done." 

He stilled, remembering all he had learned on the crystal bridge, of the dangers they had all faced. There had been no mention of this, not to his recollection. He voiced that now, only to get a puzzled look.

"Well, I would be greatly surprised if there had been. Kevin, the Moon Path is not OURS, not a Clan construct, nothing like that. It is something, well, I don't know what to call it, an entity? A place? A road? Whatever, it is something we are honored to have been given permission to travel, to approach and use as we need, to ask knowledge of, as long as we treat it with respect. Whatever it is, it seems to see us as guests, perhaps petitioners of its favor; it has never shown any interest in Clan law or customs, only in what IT requires of us when we venture forth upon it. No, whatever it chose to give to you, to tell you, that was of its own accord and for its own reasons, having nothing to do with the Clan. From the journals we studied, it DOES offer knowledge to those who make their way successfully past all the dangers to reach the summit, though that seems to vary with the individual and the reason for their journey. For some it has been self-knowledge, for others knowledge of possible sources for what the traveler was seeking, sometimes it is knowledge of the differing paths that lie ahead - the goods and ills, the challenges and rewards possible with each choice. No, whether the traveling itself is within or outside Clan custom or law, that would not be of interest to the Moon Path."

"Then this reckoning?" The three women exchanged a look now, and he asked, impatiently now, "Caeide? Who do we make the reckoning to?"

And the deep sigh came as one, "to the Grandmother, of course. And you are right, it is truly 'we'. Coura and Ciena for breaking of the Law, me for knowingly assisting them. You, well, you had no knowledge of the Law, have no obligation to be obeying it anyway and truly had no idea of what was to happen until it was begun. Still, you DO have to appear before her as well. As I understand it from my conversation with her representative earlier this morning, she has more than a few things to discuss with YOU as well. We leave in two hours; a plane will be here to pick us up."

Somehow, that didn't improve his digesting of his breakfast one little bit. He could see none of the others were particularly looking forward to this either.

He wasn't sure where they were; the journey by small plane had been a lengthy one, requiring refueling twice, and the gauges weren't any he had seen before, and the pilot seeming to come at any land masses from unusual directions, almost as if to avoid recognition. The pilot had caught him studying the instruments, the scenes below more than once and had laughed, "aye, you'll learn nothing from them, I'd think; we do like our little secrets, you know," and Kevin found himself nodding in agreement, not even trying anymore.

The large bustling community where they ended up DID present its surprises, with its seemingly never-ending stream of women and girls who mostly bore the appearance of the Clan, red hair, freckles and all, though the men and boys were of a much more varied assortment.

"A castle. You know, I don't know just WHAT I was expecting, but not a castle," he mused, tilting his head back to look at the imposing structure in front of him.

Coura laughed, "don't ask how old it is, Kevin; I doubt anyone could give you an accurate answer; it's spoken of in the oldest of the journals, the ones on hides, not even scrolls, much less bound books. I just know the Grandmother, whichever one that might be at any time, she ALWAYS lives here. Our history is here - our journals and books and scrolls, our trophies."

He raised his brows, "trophies? That should be interesting,", and a gleam of mischief crossed her face.

"Remind me to show you the Trophy Room sometime, but only when you've not eaten recently. We are NOT particularly civilized, you know, and never have been."

He looked at her askance, and glanced at Ciena and Caeide, only to get a casual shrug from the both of them.

"Well, we never HAVE made that claim, Kevin; you know that," and he wondered uneasily whether he would have the nerve to let them show him that Trophy Room after all.

All that was forgotten soon enough, when they were all four brought into the small stone chamber lined with wall-hung tapestries depicting scenes he would have loved to have studied in some depth, the stone floor covered with carpets of amazing softness and rich with color. An elegant desk at one end sat before a tall cushioned chair currently occupied by a solemn elderly woman, obviously Clan, though her hair was now silver, no longer red. She motioned them forward, and they stood before her as she studied them each in turn.

Then, just a simple statement, "taking another along the Moon Path is forbidden by Clan law."

To be followed by one directive, just as simple, accompanied by one ring-clad finger pointing to each of them in order, Caeide first. "You will explain yourself."

Caeide stepped forward, nodded again in respect, "it is forbidden. I do not claim ignorance. They are my sisters, Grandmother; he is my friend. They were in need, there was no other way. I acted as Fair Witness, willingly, knowingly. I await your judgement." She stepped back, nodding once again, and was silent.

Ciena was the next to receive that imperious demand, stepped forward, and her words were simple as well. "It is forbidden, yes, and I do not claim ignorance. He is my friend, and is cherished for that reason. He is also much loved, as other than friend. We had tried other ways, consulted with those who might know of other means, and found nothing. He was in need, there was no other way in our judgement. I played my part in taking him over the Moon Path, willingly, knowingly. I await your judgement, asking only you look with favor upon him and his future, his fate; he bears no responsibility in this, and has served the Clan and its needs generously."

Coura's words were an echo of her sister's, and Kevin acknowledged to himself, ruefully, that there was indeed nothing of the child in her words, in her demeanor, nor in the way the Grandmother was looking at her, making the same demands on her as she had on Ciena and Caeide.

The old woman sat back, not saying a word, as if she was thinking about what she had heard, considering all that had been said. Kevin wondered when it would come his time, and was disconcerted when it appeared his opinion might just be considered irrelevant in this hall of judgement. It certainly appeared to be that way when the Grandmother nodded once, and told the three women, "go," motioning to a door in the corner, not the door they'd arrived by. Without even a glance at him, the three did so, after bowing deeply in respect to she who sat in judgement.

Kevin now received that even gaze, now the words were directed at him, "we have that which we must discuss, Kevin Richards," and despite his having told himself that he would wait, let her direct the conversation, he couldn't contain himself any longer.

"What about them? They were only trying to help me. Surely . . . " and a slow smile of amusement crossed the no-longer-stern face of the straight-backed woman sitting there.

"Did you think I was going to imprison them, or maybe behead them for breaking the Law?" A rich chuckle came then, and a calm wave of her hand indicated the cluster of chairs sitting around a small table in one corner of the room.

"Come, boy, let's sit and talk somewhere a bit more comfortable. And pull that cord on the wall, will you? Refreshment will be waiting for us."

With more than a little wariness, having had many years of experience with the women of the Clan, he did so, even while checking the stones at his feet and glancing at the ceiling above before he stepped close enough to pull that cord. She had noted that wariness, that caution, and the smile of amusement increased to become a wry grin. True to her word, the pulling of the cord brought only a youngster with tray and bottle and glasses, along with a basket each of sweet and savory morsels.

Two drinks later and he was shaking his head, "so, it's being against the Law is, what, if not a punishable offence?"

"A deterrent, Kevin, to prevent the overly-curious and overly-bold from walking forward into danger. For the Moon Path IS that, you know, quite dangerous, and our youngsters are many things, but not lacking in either courage or curiosity. Still, in the same class where we teach that the taking of someone else over the Moon Path is against Clan Law, we ALSO study the journals or reports of everyone who has done so, or attempted to do so. That's where those three are now, dictating to our scribes all that occurred, every tiny detail; those will be added to the teachings. We ask that you do the same once you and I are finished here, or at least, before you leave."

"You see, we know that there are times when there simply IS no other recourse, and as our women are not without courage or conviction, they WILL make the attempt. We discourage casual or unthinking journeys, but when the need is real, we try to give the travelers every advantage, every scrap of knowledge we have that might assist them to a successful ending. That is why, whenever possible, there is to be a Witness; if the journey is NOT successful, if the travelers perish, perhaps even then some small bit of knowledge might be added to the store to aid future travelers."

"But surely they know that, then, that there's no real punishment," getting a very sly laugh in return.

"Oh, that part, that's not in any Journal except for those of the Grandmothers. No, their lessons end with 'judgement of any who try the Law is in the hands of the Grandmother, and her judging will be most carefully done, and not to be questioned.' They need to have it be a true decision, knowing the risks and possible repercussions, not counting on just getting a slap across the fingers."

He shook his head, taking another sip of the really excellent bourbon, "devious, the whole lot of you," and snorted, becoming more comfortable in this august company than he'd ever imagined. She laughed and agreed, but then turned serious once again.

"But, the question is, where do you go from here, Kevin? You've told me of the paths you were shown. I have to know, have to be sure that the path you say you wish to follow is on your OWN behalf. You spoke of your gratitude, your debt. Boy, there IS no debt, you need to understand that full well! What those two did, they offered as a gift to you, open-handed, open-hearted, expecting, nay wanting nothing in return for the gift. If you are making this decision thinking you OWE them something, you are much mistaken. That way leads only to sorrow for all three. There is only one reason to take this path, and that is if THIS PATH is the one YOU desire - YOU, YOURSELF. If THIS PATH is the one where you see the greatest fulfillment for you, the way you truly wish to spend the years Fate allots you. There must be no other considerations. You must discount any others in that decision."

She sat back, obviously finished, sipping at her glass, nibbling one of the savories she'd selected from that basket. They sat in silence for a long time, her not interrupting his thinking, considering of what she'd told him.

Finally, "and if I decide on a different path?"

She shrugged, no disappointment or judgement showing on her face, "then you depart by that door," pointing to one barely visible at the side of a tapestry so old as to be almost translucent. "A Clan brother will be waiting, will take you to transport. You will be inserted back into your life by the plan already in place. Neither of the two will seek you out, neither will again cross your path; you will be left in peace to follow the path you have chosen to follow. None other of the Clan will mention their names in your presence, none will chide you for your decision, either directly or by any other means; it will be as before, you a Clan Friend as always."

He looked at those old, ever so wise gold-brown eyes, "and if I elect to stand by my original decision?"

She returned his gaze steadily, "then THAT door is the one you take. It will lead you to those who would walk that path with you. Decide wisely, Kevin; this choice will not be given again."

He smiled at her then, a slow calm smile, peace written deep upon his face. "I know Coura wanted to show me the Trophy Room and the Wall of Remembrance and other things, and I hate to disappoint her. Will I see you again before we leave to go back home?" and an answering smile, now one showing her full approval came to her.

"At dinner this evening, Kevin; my chef is really outstanding - I think you will be pleased. He will certainly outdo himself in the preparation, thinking to make all of Coura and Ciena's favorites in celebration of their successful journey. Oh, and if you are going to let Coura show you through the Trophy Room, do it quite a bit BEFORE dinner; some of the things in there are not easy on a tricky digestion! We really are not very civilized, you know!"

They shared a laugh, finished their drinks, and he made his way through that door, to those who waited patiently to learn of his decision.


	6. To The Simple Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to HQ hadn't been a comfortable experience, and had held its own share of surprises. Well, life was just full of surprises, as Major Richards ruefully admitted to himself. And if there had been loss, there had also been gain, and with the monster, well, with more than one monster defeated, and the rich promise of what lay ahead, he found himself well content. As he lifted his glass to the slender Englishman he'd preached against so vigorously, he gave a somewhat reluctant smile, and offered a toast, "To the simple life!" and listened with amusement to the resulting roar of laughter from the men gathered there.

He entered HQ briskly, efficiently, crisp in his uniform, resolute of face, as usual, in the company of General Abernathy and General McCloud, to the astonished looks from the officers and staff. A senior MP approached, quickly, motioning two others forward with a wave of his hand, then slowing, looking from one to the other in puzzlement.

"Well, soldier?" General Abernathy snapped, "did you need something?"

"We had orders, if the Major returned, we . . ." and he trailed off at the imperious raising of one brow from the one General, and the stiff "Hmmmppphh!" from General McCloud.

Major Richards was still somewhat uneasy about this, felt rather like he was walking unarmed into a lion's den, but found a certain amusement in the scene nevertheless, one intensified when one of his biggest opponents barrelled around the corner, only to be brought up sharply.

"You have him, Sirs! But he should be under guard, and restrained!" Colonel Devon sputtered, only to find himself on the receiving end of that raised brow.

"Restrain him? Major Richards? What ARE you babbling about, Colonel?" Devon tried to explain, only to be waved away impatiently.

"The Major is here for debriefing of a mission we sent him on, a mission he has just returned from, one he succeeded with, admirably, by the way!"

Devon just didn't know how to let go. "But he is suspected of any number of things, he overcame the guards sent to retrieve him from his quarters, disappeared, has been out of contact for two weeks now! This is all highly irregular!"

"Well, we're not going to discuss it out here in the hallway; in fact, there is no reason to discuss it with you at all, Colonel. Sufficent to say, the Major was given a mission, those guards sent in error to retrieve him would have interferred with his performing that mission, which could NOT be allowed, and he was obliged to avoid that. He was acting with the full knowledge and support at the highest levels," came from General Abernathy.

As if to appease the Colonel, General McCloud said, much more congenially, "yes, Colonel Devon, I can understand how you," looking around sternly at the others in the hallway, "and others could come to the wrong impression. However, we can assure you it WAS the wrong impression, one we could not safely alleviate til the mission was completed. There were only a very few privy to the truth of this matter; don't be offended that you were not among them; it was strictly on a top secret, need to know basis; still is, actually."

With a formal nod to the now red faced, but speechless Colonel, General McCloud motioned with his hand, with great courtesy, to Major Richards to proceed, and the three of them went their way to a secure office. The buzz behind them told them that the story of this encounter, of Richards having been acting under Top Secret orders, would race through HQ faster than the day's menu in the cafeteria. 

Once there, behind closed doors, Richards looked at him, puzzlement in his eyes, "I still don't . . ."

"Yes, my boy, well neither do we, actually, but as we apparently are also among those not priviledged to be in the know, we, like everyone else around here, just have to take it on faith."

With a wry grin, somehow out of place on his stern face, "welcome back, my boy, welcome back! Our godchild tells me Friends and Family just wouldn't be the same without you, you know! And you can take that reassurance from another of Felane's 'stray pups'!"

And Major Richards, his eyes wide in shock, and now, rueful acknowledgement, gave an incredulous shake of his head, and returned the smiles of these two men he'd never spoken with before today. Now, he just had to retrieve Private Ames and things could get back to normal, or for what now seemed to serve as normal.

"He's been reassigned, Major."

"Yes, I understand that; I want him back. Now, Captain, without delay. I've work to get done and I spent a great deal of time and effort training Private Ames."

"Sir, I don't know . . ."

Now a snarl that would have easily come from a certain redhead. "You obviously DON'T, Captain. Do you REALLY want me to have General Abernathy or General McCloud to give the order? Shall I tell them you are refusing a direct order by a superior officer? I was assured taking that special assignment would not have a detrimental effect on my work or my staff after I returned. WELL, CAPTAIN??!"

And the gulp in the suddenly pale face told the story. "Yes, sir, I'll see to it right away, sir," and Captain Mills scurried away, though waiting til he rounded the corner before wiping the faint trace of sweat from his forehead. {"Now, just where DID we assign that redheaded young twerp??!"} frantically trying to remember what had seemed such an unimportant, even trivial detail.

He went back to his quarters, stepping inside cautiously, waiting, he didn't know for what, perhaps for a memory to leap out at him, overpower him. Instead, he just felt the familiarity of a place he'd lived in for several years. He doubted he'd be staying here; the Clan had agreed to find a place, someplace HQ would accept, as well as a plausible reason for moving after all this time. He smiled, {"someplace where there's room for two others, at least close by."}

It wouldn't be forever; he felt the war was in its last days; he'd stay on, at least through that 'duration plus six months' of Garrison's; he owed the team that much, more in fact, to be available to help if he was needed. They'd answered a Gathering-In for him; he now understood just what that meant. After that time, once they were free and all sorted out, well, he'd be finished too. Despite the intervention by McCloud and Abernathy, he had few friends left in the upper eschelons, and no desire to be a part of it anymore. He wasn't sure where his path, their path might lie, but together he was sure they would find it.

Julie had known little, only that he'd been away; HQ had not shared their suspicions with her, and other than having been under constant surveillance, which was not unusual considering her brother's position, she'd no reason to suspect anything.

The only thing she knew, now, was that her brother was more settled into himself, somehow, more content, and that the two O'Donnell women that he had been sniping and snipeing with over the past few months were now more in his company, and in a more congenial, relaxed way. If it had been just the older one, Julie might have suspected a little romance there, though Julie acknowledged she was probably quite a bit too young for him, but he seemed equally at ease with both, both Ciena and the young Coura, and Michael seemed to have nothing enlighting to say about the situation.

The two sisters teased him, much the same as always, and he took it all with good grace; he was equally protective of them, as evidenced by his attitude when the two were approached by some of the younger officers in his presence. However, as Ciena reminded him later, with Coura only laughing at the whole thing, they should hardly need such an impressive display, especially in a Mayfair club with both him and Garrison in tow. Still, he received a gentle touch to his cheek from Ciena, and a forehead nuzzled against his neck from Coura, letting him know they were appreciative, not angry, but giving him a gentle reminder that they needed to keep everything on a low key til he submitted his resignation papers and they were away from the prying eyes.

The Clan had been able to secure quarters for him in a building even closer to HQ, one where the Clan held sway. He had one moderate sized flat; the one next door was held by an elderly woman, one who, when the military checked her out, just as a part of basic procedures, turned out to be the owner of the building and to have lived there for many years, and was obviously harmless. The one beyond that was empty, used only for storage it would appear. The fact that the entire building was a Clan safehouse went totally undiscovered, his flat turned out to have walls with concealed pocket doors, as did the others; the elderly woman cheerfully moved four doors down, back to her own small flat, once the investigation was done, leaving them to their own large space to sort out as they would. 

They were still working on the relationships, the ins and outs, and he thoroughly expected them to be working on that for many years to come. Who they were, at any moment, commanding officer to subordinate, agent to non-agent, elder sister to younger sister, lovers (at least in the case of Kevin and Ciena), family, it was all an experience in learning, in some cases in waiting, in having patience. While he KNEW Coura was as much of an adult as Ciena, he also knew he retained too much of his Outlander upbringing to set her actual years aside so easily. So, there would be a time of waiting, and they were content with that, knowing the richness that lay ahead. He just might need to pick up some pointers from Garrison, considering what he suspected about that man's relationships with Meghada and his wiry pickpocket. Just what he was ever going to tell Julie, he hadn't figured out; he'd wait til he had a better grasp on things. For now, it wasn't necessary.

He made a trip down to Brandonshire, to stop at the Cottage, to see Garrison at the Mansion, once Private Ames was safely back at that desk outside of his office. Again, he paused as he crossed each threshold, to see if any lingering ghosts awaited him; to his relief, all that awaited was what had been from before. Caeide had told him, not any details that could disturb him, those memories gone, just as had been promised, just the locations of the dreams, in case there should be lingering unease, that he would recognize it for what it was, and let the sisters help.

A congenial welcome from Meghada, complete with coffee and pastry, a considering look and a "I think life now agrees a bit more with you, Kevin," accompanied by a warm knowing smile, and if his agreement came complete with a serious blush, well, that was just to be expected by his new sister.

At the Mansion, he was welcomed by Garrison and his team, and not only for the two bottles of fine whiskey he brought with him. He knew enough from what he'd been told that there was a story, maybe more than one, here in the Common Room, but no ghosts appeared, and no hesitation in the welcome from the men, no shadows in their eyes when they looked at him.

He nodded to himself, heaving a deep sigh; here was the last place, the last where he might have expected to find ghosts; that there were none, that was a relief beyond saying. Garrison looked at him, curiously; for some reason, Richards had been tense when he entered the room, expecting, what? Garrison didn't know, but he knew he hadn't found it here, and was glad of it. 

While having a drink with the men, and indulging in casual conversation, he intercepted a quiet, serious smile from the blond Englishman, not his usual mischievious smirk, but a quiet, brother to brother look, with just enough of a wry acknowledgement that they were perilously close to being in the same boat. He returned the smile, nodding in return, raising his glass to the little pickpocket, "To the simple life!" he offered as a toast.

Goniff broke out laughing; he remembered all too well the day, early on, when he'd explained to the Major that he wasn't a hero, wasn't a soldier, he was just someone who wanted a nice simple life! Garrison, hearing the toast, joined in the resulting laughter. {"Yes, the simple life; looks like that's not going to happen, not for any of us! Thank the Sweet Mother for that!"}


End file.
